


you know the rules

by hayleyisbored



Series: a game that you play [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Banter, Flirting, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Post-Skyfall, Q Has a Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-18 16:34:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20642264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayleyisbored/pseuds/hayleyisbored
Summary: "So do what you know best when it comes to rules, 007." Q tells him sagely, guiding Bond like they're in the midst of a mission. "Break them."





	you know the rules

Leaning against the wall in a darkened corner, Q finds him there. Bond: light grey suit, white shirt, collar unbuttoned, tanned from a recent trip to Mexico, waves of spicy cologne and hostility rolling from him. A kaleidoscope of colour spins across his face, lighting up his blue eyes until Q is sure that they're casting a glow all of their own. Here, he's supernatural.

_I'll be damned, _ Q thinks to himself, stunned to learn all the mutterings about the office the preceding week turned out to be based upon truth. 

When Moneypenny sent out the party invitations via email a month ago - Q would suspect her of grossly abusing her power and access to the entirety of MI6's email addresses if he liked her less - Q had taken one look at the blocky font, the wiggling clip-art balloons, the riot of neon green and orange and pink assaulting the eyes, and automatically wondered what Bond would make of the monstrosity.

He imagined Bond swiftly clicking delete and shutting down his laptop for good in fear of Moneypenny's tenacious determination when it came to getting her way. He imagined Bond fleeing the country on the first assignment he could get, anything to avoid being curtailed into attending a colleague's _birthday party_. Q never imagined this though. He never thought Bond would _actually_ show up.

The bass from the speakers matches up with Q's quickened footsteps, propelling him forward through a throng of party-goers and towards the agent. It's a dance to them, one always seeking the other out, Bond tracking Q's movement from his nook across the dance floor like he's tailing a target. 

Q has to raise his voice to make himself heard when he approaches Bond, has to lean in so that they look like conspirators - or lovers.

"I didn't expect to see you here." 

Bond smiles, lays a hand on Q's shoulder so that he can pull him all the more nearer. "People will talk, Q. I rarely engage with anyone at these functions when I _do_ come. You're ruining my reputation." 

Q thinks on all the times he's caught his minions mid-gossip, the sudden silence in the room like he's pulled a plug on the sound. They've been keeping tabs on every single one of Q's meetings with 007, trying to gauge any apparent intimacy and although the minions make a decent stab at discretion, it hasn't been enough to fool the Quartermaster. The finest minds in the country but Q's is finer. 

"Oh, I believe that ship sailed a long time ago, 007. Attending a party with a DJ might do more harm for your reputation than a friendly chat ever could." 

"I wouldn't want to disappoint Moneypenny," Bond says, confirming Q's suspicions. "She's made it quite plain that she's more than willing to shoot me again. I do my best to steer her from that course, where I can. Once is quite enough."

"And here was I, wrongly assuming imminent death would appear more palatable to you than this." Q makes a vague motion to the party around them; M at the buffet table making awkward small talk with a few of the minions over sausage rolls and samosas, 003 and 005 each trying to cajole the DJ into playing the song of their choice, Eve laughing so hard that she's sloshing wine down her new dress. Q proffers the plate of snacks he'd brought along with him. "Biscuit?"

Bonds eyes the Party Rings on Q's plate with mirth. "Death is becoming more and more favourable as the evening wears on."

"You must admit to Moneypenny's ingenuity. I'm thoroughly impressed with her resourcefulness. She must have sent that ghastly email out to the whole building."

Those who haven't the opportunity to encounter the agent on a regular basis are skirting around the empty space which Bond has made for himself, keeping to the fringes to catch a glimpse of their most revered Double-Oh. They swarm around Bond like moths to a flame, positively desperate to be scorched. Their interest doesn't go unnoticed.

"Don't bloody remind me," Bond says darkly. "Sometimes I feel like I'm on display at a zoo, the way they gawk at me."

This is something new to Q; Bond only enjoys being looked at when he has reason. It should have occurred to Q sooner. They're two sides of the same coin, both introverts of a contrasting nature. Being at home in solitude is a requirement to do either of their jobs but on the occasions when they're thrown together, no matter if they're miles apart and joined only by the feeble connection of their headsets, it's a small comfort to know there's someone who will understand that. Ironically together in their loneliness. 

"You can't blame them too much. You make quite the name for yourself, 007. If they had chance to know you as I do, they'd come to realise you're just an exciting combination of pomposity and luck."

"It's nice to know you think so highly of me, Q." Bond says with humour, squeezing Q's shoulder. "Let's get some air. If I have to watch Tanner do that one more time, I may have to act drastically."

Q looks across to the dance floor where Bill is attempting the Robot. He sees Bond's point. Q deposits his paper plate of biscuits on a table already dangerously close to maximum capacity with half empty pint glasses, brushing any stray crumbs from the front of his jumper.

"Lead on, 007."

The crowd seems to part when Bond steps out onto the floor, lurching out of the agent's path and crashing back together like waves against rock once he's passed. Q knows that _he's_ seen as an outcast, entirely voluntary on his part, that more co-workers than not are surprised to see him extract himself from his desk. Bond is something else though. Bond almost never mixes with anyone outside of Q Branch or M's immediate office. If Q is a tolerated outsider, Bond is persona non grata.

Bond takes them through a corridor still clinging to days gone by, the nostalgic smell of beer and cigarette smoke from a time when secondhand smoking hadn't been of any real concern. The agent stops at the fire door plastered over with outdated posters of local bands touring working men's clubs, pressing his weight on the bar so that it groans open, taking them out to the top of steps slick with rain. Beyond, a rather forlorn alleyway leads down to the fluorescent windows of a takeaway promising kebabs smothered in mint sauce and mayonnaise, and Q secretly thrills at the idea of Bond choosing him to lurk beneath the flickering bulb of a street light with.

Once the door swings shut behind them, the music from the party comes muffled, dully pulsating. It's as if the entire party is submerged beneath water, lending the world around them the vague tranquillity of a dream state, specks of fine rain kissing and cooling Q's cheekbones. Q is more than willing to deal with a sprinkling of water than go back in there and he has a funny notion that Bond feels the same. 

"I didn't know you had a vice, Q." Somewhere along the way, Bond has pulled on his coat. Beautifully made, custom fit, richly dark, probably worth more than everything Q possesses. 

"I don't," Q says, smiling slightly when he notices Bond gesturing at the cigarette he's shaking from a battered box. "Not really. Purely social - or I suppose you could consider it the opposite. It's a good excuse to get out of things, I know no one will bother me if I just hold this up. People are far more accepting of smoking breaks than if you were to tell them you simply want a moment in your own head."

"Desperate measures indeed."

Q and Bond stand shoulder to shoulder, staring out into the dark alley beneath their dingy patch of light. Bond turns up the collar of the coat to keep the rain at bay but Q lets his jumper grow soggier and soggier, the cigarette dangling loosely between two fingers.

"You'll catch a cold," Bond states casually, raking his stare up and down Q's body. "I don't think I've seen you take a day off since you became Quartermaster. We'd all go into shock if you were to start now."

Q flicks the end of his untouched, burning cigarette so that the ash sparks and drifts away on a breeze. 

"I have to say, you do a _marvellous_ impression of sounding like you care."

"Who says that I'm pretending?"

"Isn't that in your job description?"

Bond heaves a sigh, only a fraction of his usual acidity bleeding into the words. "I'm tired of playing this game with you, Q."

Unwittingly, Q has lost his footing around Bond, not for the first time. "We both made the rules," he says, confused, turning his head slightly towards Bond. The agent's profile is steeped in restraint, a twitch in his clenched jaw. A coil going against nature and fighting not to spring.

"And don't I know it." This, from an irritated Bond. He sounds as bitter as black coffee, hands stuffed into the pockets of his expensive coat.

Q realises that this is Bond _sulking_. It suddenly becomes apparent to him that Bond has been holding back because he thinks that is what Q wants, even if he's not happy about it. 

"Ah," Q breathes, blinking hard behind his glasses. ""You were following my lead?"

Bond speaks slowly, every word said with deliberate emphasis. "I thought that was clear."

"So do what you know best when it comes to rules, 007." Q tells him sagely, calmly, guiding Bond like they're in the midst of a mission. They could be speaking over their earpieces for the conversational tone he's managing to employ but in his chest, Q's heart is pounding out a different story. The beat in his throat pushes him towards bravery. "Break them."

Bond's interest is piqued; where before he'd been staunchly avoiding looking at Q, he now bodily turns to him as if Q has started channelling and voicing aloud all of Bond's best kept secrets. 

"I thought you hated when I rebelled."

"Rather annoyingly, I've learnt that sometimes it's best to just let you get on with it." Q confides. "I've not the same talent as you when it comes to improvisation. I much prefer planning." 

"And did you plan for me?"

Q lets Bond's question hang in the air between them for a few taut seconds. "No," he says quietly, tossing the butt of the cigarette away into a nearby skip. "You came out of nowhere. I've no idea what to do with myself where you're concerned."

"Perhaps I can offer you some clarification, then?"

"I don't believe you're capable of clarifying anything for me, Bond. You see, _you're_ the conundrum. You've been a mystery to me since day one. You're the one puzzle I can't solve my way out - "

"Q, do you _ever_ stop talking?"

"James," Q says rather helplessly. "Talking is all I know how to do."

"Luckily for you, my repertoire is a little more impressive than that."

Bond sidles closer, backing Q up until his spine is pressed into the hand-railing of the concrete stairs. Q rests an elbow there on the railing, trying for composed, for _cool_, leaning so that all he has to do is tilt his head to meet Bond's steady, darkening gaze. The spatters of rain on Q's glasses might be ruining the effect some.

Still, 007's eyes slip, taking the dangerous route down Q's nose and to his waiting mouth. From inside the party, a song slithers through the cracks in the door and dares them on.

"_Take it now or leave it -_ "

Q tries to hold still, even when Bond's hands brush by his hips to grip the railing on either side of him.

"_ \- now is all we get -_ "

Q registers the smirk on Bond's face as he leans in, the lines around his eyes and mouth that exist to show that, against all odds, he's managed to find enough nerve to survive this long in the job and smile about it.

"_ \- nothing promised, no regrets._" 

Bond is just short of contact when he pauses and looks up suddenly, startlingly close so that Q can see his face reflected in the black circle of the agent's iris. He gives Q the chance to duck out if he desires, to snap back to their normal routine; Bond is allowing Q to return to the safe pull and tug of flirtatious conversation with no consequences. 

"Are you sure this is what you want, Q?" 

Q shifts against the railing, a fraction closer to Bond. "I've been actively trying my best to avoid this since we first met." 

"But do you _want_ this? Just say the word and I'll go." 

When Q doesn't speak, doesn't move an inch because _ of course_ he wants this - he's rather pathetically pined over Bond for years now - Bond takes it as confirmation.

Q has no idea what to expect from Bond when he does away with that slip of air which has acted as a dependable barrier between them for so long. He's somewhat stunned by the tenderness that preludes the kiss, Bond's fingers curling gently around Q's wrist beneath the cuff of his sleeve, thumb resting against the fluttering of Q's pulse. 

The Quartermaster lets his eyes drift shut at the careful press of Bond's mouth on his; it seems to Q as if he's plunged his head beneath the surface of water, welcoming the distortion of all his senses so that all he knows is this and Bond. Bond filling up his nostrils, stifling the sound in his ears, pouring down his throat. Yet it's soft and sweet, warmth flooding him, a hint of enticing heat from Bond's tongue sweeping against Q's lower lip. If this is drowning, Q will readily give himself up to the ocean in Bond's eyes. 

Bond gladly captures a gasp that surprises Q and swallows it whole, changing the kiss and steering it into something more charged, insistent. His other hand comes up to grip Q's face, knocking his glasses askew, and Q knows somewhere in the fog of his brain that in any other circumstance this would bother him.

He clings to the crook of Bond's elbow, forgetting the clumsy way he's kissing Bond back and instead letting himself soak up every inch of the agent. It's new for Q to let go of critical thinking, to rely on instinct and simply follow the actions of his body. It certainly seems to be in sync with Bond, responding to every one of 007's touches with admirable willingness.

_So this is what all the fuss is about_, Q muses to himself. _This is why people are tripping over themselves to be noticed by Bond._

Q has witnessed the lengths a person is prepared to go to get Bond to even _look_ at them. He's seen the way Q Branch reacts to the agent, the chaotic rush to come into work early if they know Bond is going to be collecting his equipment from Q that day. He's watched as targets throw themselves into the path of danger just to be near him for another moment longer. Even Moneypenny isn't immune despite there being not a single spark of romantic interest for Bond, working hard and flirting harder just to earn one of his smirks. 

Q knows exactly why someone will build gadget after impossible gadget for 007, abandon everything at the drop of a hat to hear Bond's velvet-smooth voice in their ear, brandish sarcasm and wit like a sword in a bid to charm and impress. It's the only way Q knows how. 

When Bond pulls away, he leaves Q red and panting. He traces the tip of a finger along the edge of Q's swollen lip. "Well, now. That wasn't so hard, was it, Q?"

Q slaps Bond's hand away and extricates himself from the railing, relinquishing his alarmingly tight hold on Bond's arm. "_Do_ shut up, 007."

"You look like a drowned rat." 

"Not all of us can look like pouty supermodels all our lives, Bond. Maybe if you hadn't dragged me out here in the rain to begin with - " 

"Perhaps you should go and use that clever little brain of yours to invent something to keep dry, then." 

"They already have," Q says wryly, readjusting his glasses. "I believe it's called an umbrella."

Bond shakes his head and laughs, truly _laughs_. It's short, incredulity riding on a breathy exhale, a sound akin to a breaking voice - but it's genuine, some rare gift for Q to indulge in. He grabs at Q's cold fingers, encouraging him down the steps into the alley, silhouetted by the bright white light from the takeaway. Q reluctantly glances back at the door to the venue.

"What about Moneypenny's party? After all your efforts, it'd be a shame for you to be shot by her this late in the game."

"I daresay she'll get over it in due time."

"Where are we even going to go?"

Bond pulls at Q's hand, reeling him in until Q is tripping into Bond's unyielding body. A hand comes up, plucks strands of dripping hair from Q's eyes, fingertips leaving a warm trail down Q's cheek and past his jaw, down to settle lightly at his neck. Q shivers but not from the cold. Bond's small smile opens up to reveal teeth.

"If memory serves correctly, I was promised a date some time ago."

"Ah, yes." Q says, acting as if he'd forgotten all about it - as if he ever would. "I thought you'd given that up."

"Then you don't know me at all." 

"Can anyone claim to truly know you, Bond?" 

His joke falls flat. The tone shifts, Q can feel the world tilting beneath his feet. There's a sadness in Bond locked deep down but it flits across the surface now, a phantom of the emotions he's been taught to suppress and smother for the greater good. Bond never has, he's just gotten skilled at harnessing it; he carries his pain around like it's an obligation, like it's his duty. 

"Only the dead." comes his reply, clipped and cold. Bond pushes away from Q, retreats a few paces from the flickering light. This is Bond shutting himself off, the way he always does when things are going the way of becoming too personal.

Q never thought he'd need it but he's forcibly reminded of who he's dealing with. He recalls a name no one dares to breathe aloud at MI6; Vesper Lynd. Perhaps one of the only people allowed to see Bond with his guard down. She was before Q's time but he's heard disjointed fragments of the tragic affair, the aftermath where Bond became less than human and those around him reduced to collateral in the wake of his devastation. If he'd been considered prickly and remote to deal with before, he was said to be utterly unreachable in those days. Q stopped enquiring after details before too long; in this business where almost any and every scrap of personal information is laid bare, Q felt he owed Bond at least that.

The former M, too, had come closer than most to discovering what histories were hidden within the person behind the 007 moniker. Someone else who had managed to penetrate Bond's defences against his wishes, ripped away while Bond could do nothing more but bear witness, forced to endure an agent's worst nightmare and be rendered impossibly helpless. 

"I'd like to know you, if you'd allow it." he tells Bond softly.

"_You'd_ like to know me?" Bond asks in disbelief. "How long have we worked together? How long since we've moved beyond anything that can be considered professional and yet I have no idea what your real name is, _Q_." 

"What's in a name? No, listen," Q demands when Bond rolls his eyes in annoyance, when his mouth pinches as a prelude to some undoubtedly scathing remark. "My name is worthless to me. It's nothing but a jumble of letters stamped out onto a piece of paper. I abandoned that name the second I took on my role as Quartermaster. You _know_ me as Q, and what I know of you is as 007. See beyond the name, James. I'd bet you anything that you know more of me than anyone who was ever in my life before I became Q."

"A bet? A bet is what brought you here to begin with but we've no wires to snip at today. What would you bet on, Q? Would you stake your life on it?"

Q knows that this is a test, one that stems from the core of Bond's deepest insecurity. The fear of losing someone again scares James Bond more than anything else. 

"Heaven, no. Let's not lose ourselves to melodrama, 007." Q says this tartly, the way he would if he were in verbal combat with Bond during a mission and things are going awry. Experience has taught him that this is what Bond responds to best. "You can depend upon me running in the opposite direction if I were to catch even the faintest whiff of trouble. I've told you before that my expertise is most effective when I'm settled somewhere cosy with a cup of Earl Grey, not shooting at people and running about atop of trains."

"If not your life, then what?" There's a twitch at the corner of Bond's mouth. It almost seems to say: _game, set and match_. 

"A date," Q is feeling bold but miraculously comes across as nonchalant. "I would bet you a date."

Bond runs a hand over his scalp, through the cropped hair, mussing it into spikes. "I'm not sure you're familiar with how a wager works because I can't seem to find a downside in there, Q. How would we possibly quantify my knowledge of you against anyone else's?" 

"Ah, I suppose you'll just have to take my word for it." Q says, stepping further into the alley to join Bond at the fringes of darkness. He stops toe to toe with him, stares up into the blue of Bond's eyes. "It appears that I owe you a second date - that is, if you still want the first."

Bond grins, looking at Q as if he's just presented him with a brand new car and a gun to match. He looks like he's just been told there's an ejector seat in the passenger side and an exploding pen in the glove compartment. He looks at Q like he's indispensable, a thing of wonder. 

"I thought you'd never ask."

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Okay. So, we did it. I think this is the final part for this particular series but I can probably safely say there'll be more for these two in the future in other stories because although the struggle is real, I really enjoy writing them.
> 
> I just want to say a massive thanks to you all for reading, subscribing, for the bookmarks, for leaving kudos and such lovely, LOVELY comments that I've literally clutched at my heart reading them because you've been so nice. Really, _thank you_.
> 
> Song where the title is from/referenced in this fic/used for inspiration and oh boy, is it a jam: [Voulez-Vous by Abba.](https://open.spotify.com/album/7iLuHJkrb9KHPkMgddYigh)
> 
> p.s. To any new readers, I should mention that this fic will make more sense if you go back and read the other parts of this series - or at least just part 1!


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